Thursday, August 16, 2012

After months of radio silence, my phone awakened from its slumber and yielded a pair of job interviews scheduled for next week. Because I hadn't heard it ring for some time, I took frightened, animalistic swipes at my cellular device hoping to purge it of demons and fire spells. After I realized what was going on, I had my male cat Parker, the bigger and more daring of the two house cats, listen to the voicemail, call each school, and make the appointments. He doesn't understand English, but I have trained him to mimic basic business parlance including such phrases as:

Think outside the box.

I'll shoot you an email.

How does Wednesday sound?

Let's fly this up the flagpole and see who salutes.

Unfortunately, his inadequate feline vocal cords garble each phrase so much that I'm pretty sure these potential employers will be expecting a 400 pound Korean barber. No matter. I will stay the course.

You may be wondering what my interview strategies will be. Well, I'm glad you're so interested. I plan to hire a female impersonator to act in my stead. Now, I know what you're thinking! You assume I mean I'm having another man pretend to be me and that man happens to be a female impersonator on the side. This is incorrect. The man will dress as whomever it is he impersonates (I'm told Cher is popular), and then, dressed as that woman, he/she will then pretend to be me. Imagine a very masculine Dolly Parton sporting a mustache, and you'll begin to understand where I'm going with this. And where is that? To the top, baby. To the top.

The point of all this is to create a smokescreen in order to hide my insecurities and nervousness. Because I'm nervous. And I really need a job.

Wednesday, August 08, 2012

Recently, a bunch of crazy business happened between GoDaddy, Google, and Google's subsidiary Blogger and the resulting amalgam took my blog away for a short while. Without my knowing it. So it's back. All five of you should be shitting yourselves with glorious anticipation.

Tuesday, August 07, 2012

Somewhere along the line in my relentless search for a teaching job, one of the countless websites I was forced to join got me involved in a deluge of Nigerian spam email. If you've been on the internet for even a few years, you've come to see the Nigerian spam emails as web classics, comedic gems hand-crafted by barely literate scam artists more likely to be located in Bayonne than Nigeria. Though I've seen countless emails claiming I'd won millions of dollars from a freshly dead African prince, I had never seen an email claiming to be from the Nigerian authorities investigating these frauds. What a wonderful step in the evolution of spam. Here's the letter in full (all errors left in for the lulz):

Dear Sir/Madam,

LETTER OF COMPENSATION/SETTLEMENT.

We hereby inform you that out of our records for the year investigation it is drawn to us that youhave been victimized by the men of underworld(Pretenders/impostors). However,the management hasbeen dutifully empowered by the Investigation bureau office of the President andCommander-in-chief of the Armed Forces of Federal Republic of Nigeria to curb all illicittransaction and workload of this perpetrators.

In line with the Anti-corruption crusade of the Presidency, President Goodluck Jonathan (GCFR)youare by this Email notification to stop any contact regarding this illegal transaction with thisHoodlums.Out of our findings, the image of this country has been dented Internationally during thepast administration of the Federal Government of Nigeria.Presently,we have employed a strategy toremit sanity,and vow to terminate the activity of this fraudsters,by consolidating our securityNetwork all over the country in view to monitor all outgoing and incoming communication to enableus fish out and avert all illegal and suspicious transaction both domestically and internationallyrespectively.

Moreover,it occur that some of our Financial Institutions(Bank) serve as a condit pipe by whichthis fraudsters use to perpetrate the undo crime.We have signal all these financial institutionsto implement scrutinized investigation before carrying any transaction.Any bank found culpable ofbreaching the law,must have their operational license revoke.

In accordance with the criminal and other related offense act 25 of 1999 constitution, we havebeen officially compel by Senator. A. Aminu(JP), Chairman, Senate committee on Foreign Affair tomapped out billions of Dollars from the Annual Budget to compensate all defrauded victims as partof the ongoing National Reform Scheme of the presidency and means to radiate immunity forcriticism.

In view of this,we have been informed that you are still dealing with those hoodlums in all yourattempts to secure the release of your fund.We wish to advise you that such an illegal act has tostop if you wish to receive your payment since we have decided to bring a solution to yourproblem. Do be informed that we reserve the right at our discretion to sue you for damage onrecognition of further contact with this people.

By the strength of this development the sum of US$5.Million United States Dollars(USD$5,000,000.00) has been SIGNED to each beneficiaries to be paid . This Memorandum is to notifyyou that you will be settled with the sum of US$5.Million United States Dollars(USD$5,000,000.00)/ your Inheritance /contract or lotto payment.

These above-mentioned informations will officially enable us to carry out our verificationprocesses and after that your compensation sum/Inheritance Funds will be approved in your name andElectronically wired into your designated Bank account or by ATM Card delivery to your doorstep.,depending on which mode of payment you prefer.

You are to contact this office upon receipt of this notification immediately to proceed for payment.

Monday, May 14, 2012

Max places the tip of his number two Fort Ticonderoga pencil in the center of the bubble corresponding to the answer "B: concave." In a swift, meticulous manner, he conjures a series of tightly overlapping circles, a flurry of interweaving graphite that forges a cyclone around the answer bubble until the white space is entirely obscured. He stares at the newborn void and traces its circumference once, then twice, then knits a final crosshatched layer of pencil over the entire bubble making it breathtakingly opaque, arrogantly finite. It is a monolith. And it's perfect.

After placing his pencil, still warm from his soft hands, into its shallow cradle at the top of his desk, Max ceremoniously closes his test booklet, presses his palms against the cover in order to smooth the crease that now scars the binding, and glances at his classmates, all folded over their desks looking like overworked accountants. What utter dummies, thinks Max, as he simultaneously pushes his desk forward while using the backs of his thighs to eject his chair in the opposite direction. An industrial screech sounds. The gnashing maw of some mechanical bird. The other students flinch and fire lethal stares in Max's direction, but his smug smirk disarms them, deflects the volley, fries the circuits until they all return to their labor defeated. I'm done, thinks Max. A familiar urge swells inside his head, a ritual desire to fling his finished test toward the dozing proctor and scream that IT WAS EASY. IT WAS SO FUCKING EASY. If any of you NEANDERTHALS need me, I'll be in the lunchroom figuring out how to budget my inevitable six-figure salary. Good luck with those comprehension questions, Joey. The mood of the first reading sample was most certainly not "fuzzy," you backwards hick idiot. I hope you sit awkwardly on your dad's rifle that you insist on bringing to school in that piece of shit Datsun and blow your asscheeks off. CLEAN OFF. Then you'd have a concave ass.

Max chuckles to himself at his little joke and realizes that he has been enjoying this delicious daydream with full attention from his classmates. The proctor has awakened and her crazed, bulbous eyes are shifting focus to center from the sides, like some hideous, ancient toad.

"Mr. Reyes," she rasps, her gnarled hands groping for the desk in front of her as she leans forward. "You done?"

"I...am," replies Max in an unintentional, interrogatory tone that makes it sound as if he were soul-searching. Or coming out of a coma.

"Hey, hot shit," says a particularly handsome, athletic, and infuriating boy from the back of the classroom. "What a shock, Fag Max is done."

The other students titter like the callous sycophants they are as the clever Adonis, Clint Bilko, lets out a hardy chortle and extends his middle finger at Max. Freshman year, Clint hosted a viewing of the legendary sci-fi film Mad Max, and, with a certain amount of pride, announced what would become Max's default moniker for the rest of his high school stint: Fag Max. Despite Max's insistence that the pun wasn't very good, it stuck. The fact that the name "Clint Bilko" seemed to have the potential for countless filthy variations went largely unnoticed by Max's class. Lint Bilbo. Stunt Dildo. Clit Butthole. All neglected retaliations, wasted fodder at Max's feet.

Though he can feel Clint's attractive yet vacant eyes boring into his temples, Max quietly ignores the humiliation, collects his test book, along with any arrant shards of dignity he can find, and walks toward the proctor's desk at the head of the class. The attention is overwhelming, and he feels as if he were a celestial mass being bombarded as it trundles through space. Unsteady. Near collapse. He places his test on the proctor's desk, the state emblem blandly adorning its cover, and turns toward the door.

This is the first moment in Max's life in which he feels the urge to kill.